Legend of Pipit
by Gabubu
Summary: A fic that seeks to explain Pipit and his mother's living conditions and regarding Pipit's father. There are more skylofts than merely Skyloft in this fic. Chapter 2: Evening Routine
1. Morning Routine

**This fic seeks to create a backstory for Pipit and his mother, Mallara. I will make use of canon realities, but will resort to my own inventions, particularly regarding Pipit's father and the existence of more Skylofts with Hylians residing there. **

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Roughly-hewn splinter-infused furniture neatly rested on a patched, quickly laid wooden floor. The long-ago plastered walls cracked and drape-less entryway surround a simply lighted lamp bolted above the studious head of a furiously scrawling pupil. Carefully-read books line a near shelf, and the engrossed boy shuffles beneath a layer of clothing. The heaven-bound island world is chilly. Fog's nipping embrace shrouds the hill-submerged stone home in which the boy resides. Nearby, a mother sleeps, coddled in patched sheets and a comforter; scarecrow-garment-quilted curtains enveloping her sleeping nook, containing the warmth of her body heat and the cloth-covered heated stones at her feet. Her walls- and those of the home- are a pale pink, sparsely decorated in other hues. A shining, freshly cleaned vanity mirror and other such well-carved, smooth furnishings. The small home held a pink rug and wooden table at its core, along with two fine lamps over it. Over the mother's bed the same lamp hung vigilant.

Pipit- the boy- sighed, as he emerged from the knighthood techniques offered in next week's reading. He liked to read ahead, to stay afloat and above the rest of his peers. He decided it was late enough, and moved himself to his bed, shuffling from his patched blanket and placing it on his bed, snuggling underneath it. He shivered. His feet, blocks of ice, and his back, crawling in frost, he trembled with cold. He forgot the heated stones in his haste for warmth. Reluctantly, he dashed to the small cracked fireplace's embers and selected three small, smooth, warmed stones; quickly wrapping them in rags, then dashing to his colder bed and shivering, while clutching the bundle of warmth. Gradually, he drifted asleep.

Dawn settled, the sky awash in pale, dark hues and the sun's preliminary piercing rays adorned the sky and the sky island's surroundings. Pipit arose, stretched, and carefully built a fireplace from last night's cold embers. He boiled water on the stove in old pots, and dragged a washtub from the cellar before the heat of the fire. He grabbed his father's knight-training uniform and placed it in his pouch after changing out of his sleeping-clothes and into a towel. He ran out the door and toward the waterfall-draped pool of water before leaping in after tossing his pouch on land. Frigid water sliced his flesh as he scrubbed himself clean with a small soap. His fingers massaged his scalp clean as other Knight Academy male students joined him. Today was the entrance examination. Tradition dictated that future knights bathe in the Goddess's pure water to prepare themselves for knighthood tests. He ran out of the fresh water and quickly wrapped himself in his thin towel. He quickly dressed himself as the winds grew stronger and moved his body completely off the ground. His father's training clothes were a deep purple, faded by time. It was a tunic and gray cloth belt. Beneath it he wore borrowed underclassman Knight Academy pants and old toe-vice-grip boots. He trudged back home, refreshed from his cold bath.

His mother, rising woefully from her deep sleep, reluctantly straightened her old- but lush- comforter and quickly crafted a weak tea, along with a poor breakfast of sparsely salted oatmeal. She plopped spoonfuls of the oatmeal into two cracked bowls, and laid them at the table. The rest of Pipit's heated water went to the laundry. Pipit's mother languidly tossed yesterday's clothing and rags into the washtub and poured quickly cooling water over them, and slowly, half-halfheartedly, scrubbed. Her purple-encased son threw the door open in haste, allowing a billowy cloud of dust to rise from the table's rug. Releasing a cough or two, he hurried to his lukewarm oat sludge and gulped it down, chugged the weak tea and hurried out the door to his life-altering exams.

Mallara rose slowly, closed the door her hurried son left open, and searched the cupboard. In the very back, a carefully guarded yellow-porcelain jar rested. She uncorked the jar and scraped around its insides for some moments, before finding the last of the honey she bartered her sewing skills for months ago. The odd boy, Stritch, traded honey for a purple cape. The honey was now crystallized, rocky, and coarse. She applied it to her hardening oatmeal lump, along with her tea, swirled it, and ate daintily. Her elbows made no contact with any surfaces, and she dabbed at her mouth as she ate with a faded orange cloth napkin. She carefully placed Pipit and her own dishes into the washtub, and walked back to her bed. She lifted her comforter and settled into sleep.

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**Please review!**


	2. Evening Routine

**This chapter begins to give a back story on Mallara and Pipit's father's relationship. Warning: OC within- there's no canon Pipit-dad that I'm aware of. **

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Robin dove from the downy back of his yellow-feathered steed, opening a worn sailcloth and softly enjoying the soft breeze as dusk settled below and above the land. Clad in gray, he almost melded into the color of dusk's icy mist. The homes on island Fern of Skyloft towered above their counterparts in Rose, whose dusty ramshackle buildings only reached the ceiling of the first level. Black-booted, nimble feet deftly landed on the sloping, slanted roof of a lightly peach-colored home, slipping into a suspiciously open sheer-pink curtained-window.

Robin's well-worn grays contrasted the pink, faint tones of the room. The floor was a light oak wood, marred by plush rugs and elegantly carved furniture. A crystalline chandelier dominated the room from the center of the ceiling. The room was littered with trinkets lining the walls and floors. Joining them lay items: a few dainty figurines here and there, carefully painted unmatched tea-sets, bits of scrap fabric, knitting needles jammed into puffs of yarn, and a variety. To the immediate left of the window, a nook containing spools of thread and cloth, doll-like mannequins, and a humming girl clad in a soft rose-tinged gown sat in an ornate chair- across from a burning lamp- adjusting the hem of long, deep purple purple skirt. The gray-dressed boy removed his pointed cap, stretched, and ran his left hand through his mussed chestnut hair, rumpling it in the process. The girl peacefully glanced from her labors, finished a stitch and set the item down on her sewing table. She stood rapidly and ran to hug the haggard youth. He returned he soft embrace gently. "I secured a place," he murmured into the top of her soft earth-colored hair. She looked up at him and beamed.

Resounding footsteps emanated from the wooden stairs adjacent to the pink haven- the deep sound of a heaviness ascending on the strong wooden stairs one by one. The gray boy's and the pink girl's lips briefly collided, as quick hands retrieved a peaked hat and disappeared through the window.

The solid door opened easily under influence from Grebe's thick arm-hand apparatus, which joined seamlessly at a thick wrist. Her darkly gray tresses styled into a beehive, and a strand of struggling pearls collided with her greasy, dripping neck. Her wide, squishy body strained within the confines of a pastel blue gown. "Mallara, dear, great news!", her pinched, nasal voice exclaimed.

"Yes, Mama?", the pink-enveloped girl responded as her heart pounded out of her chest, and she took a seat on her barely pale-rose bed.

"I just arrived from an impromptu after-dinner tea with the sweet neighbors! I am under the impression that their esteemed son Cinero expressed interest in meeting you for tea tomorrow!", rattled her mother. Mallara's feigned interest in her mother's words waned. The Robin-bestowed tinge of pink in her face drained.

"Mama, ...I don't want tea with Cinero tomorrow..."

"You must socialize, dear! Sitting in your room day and night, _sewing, knitting, hemming._ It's a waste of your natural genetic beauty! Cinero is a fine young man, one tea meeting won't bring harm! It's getting darker outdoors, dear. Close up your window, the wind is chilly!", her mother shivered, as her entire body quivered in cold. "Tomorrow after dinner your father will escort you! You can wear the new sky-blue dress I found for you at the market last week! I'll send Elm up with warm milk and lotion for your delicate hands. Goodnight dear!", her mother exclaimed as she made her slow exit. Sounds of a struggle to descend signaled Robin, who clung to the decorative leaf-sheathed wrought-iron decoration outside the window, turning blue from cold.

He quickly swung inside, shivering to himself as Mallara closed the heavy bedroom door and silently locked it. Robin made his way to her bed and tore the comforter off, quickly covering himself with it as he waited for his shivers to fade. He watched her stare at the closed door: "What's wrong?". She turned, with tears cascading down her face.

"I'm tired of this, Robin... I don't want to suffer through my parents' suggestions anymore..." falteringly, she said.

"I'll reintroduce myself right before your tea-date. It'll be okay; I've graduated now.". A smile slowly dotted her face- hope emanated from his words.

"Thank you," she said as she bent before him and pecked him quickly on the nose. Elm's urgent knock broke the moment, and before she could say "good luck" or he, "good night", he'd escaped through the window and she'd unlocked her door to receive the middle-aged lady's offerings.

As Robin made his way to the nearest edge, he glanced at the imposing home beside Mallara's. Shaking his head, he dove off the side of the floating frigid island, and as icy wind scraped at his face, he whistled. Bright sunflower-tinged feathers caught him and carted him off toward Knight Academy Island.

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**d'aww. I'm getting all sappy from my own pairing. I'm hoping this chapter/relationship isn't too formulaic. D:**

**I've decided Mallara's parents are Grebe and Pochard. (Both duck-based names.) Isn't that just pretentious?  
**

**I'm excited to show you Pochard next chapter. Please review~**


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